Dakota Home. Debbie Macomber
Hassie Knight had been a friend of his mother’s; she was also the one woman he knew, other than Sarah, who didn’t make him feel like a cripple.
3 OF A KIND, the town’s only hotel, bar and grill, was down the street from the pharmacy. Jeb had briefly met Buffalo Bob a couple of years earlier. He never did understand why a leather-clad, tattooed biker with a ponytail would settle in Buffalo Valley, but it wasn’t up to him to question. Bob had lasted longer than Jeb had thought he would. People seemed to like him, or so Calla, Jeb’s niece, had informed him.
The Pizza Parlor was new, but now that he thought about it, he remembered Sarah telling him Calla had started working there part-time. Good thing—the kid needed an outlet. She was fifteen and full of attitude. Jeb suspected that Dennis and his sister would have been married by now if it wasn’t for Calla.
Sarah’s quilting store came into view next and despite his irritation with her, he couldn’t squelch his sense of pride. Her quilts were exquisite, crafted from muslin colored with various natural dyes that Sarah derived from plants, berries and lichen. She managed to make something complex and beautiful out of this hand-dyed muslin, combining traditional methods with her own designs. The store was a testament to her talent and skill. She took justifiable pride in her work, displaying quilts in the front window of what had once been a florist shop. The Spring Bouquet had been closed for at least fifteen years. Folks didn’t buy a luxury like hothouse flowers when it was hard enough just getting food on the table. Nor had there been much to celebrate in Buffalo Valley for a long time.
Still, the town showed more life than it had in years. The old Buffalo Valley theater appeared to be in operation; he recalled his father saying something about a school play being held there last Christmas. He didn’t realize the theater had reopened permanently, but he supposed it made sense, since the place had been completely refurbished.
The theater wasn’t his only surprise. The outside of Hansen’s Grocery had recently been painted, as well. God knew it could use a face-lift. The sign was down and propped against the building; it was probably worn out, like so much else in town.
Not delaying the unpleasant task any longer, Jeb parked and headed toward the grocery, determined to be as cold and aloof as possible until Marta Hansen got the message. If past experience was anything to go by, that could take a while.
“Hello.”
He wasn’t two steps into the grocery when a friendly voice called out to greet him. His reply was more grunt than words. Without stopping, he reached for a cart and started down the first aisle.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the woman said, following him.
Jeb turned. He didn’t want to be rude, but he did want to get his point across. Leave me alone. He wasn’t interested in exchanging gossip, didn’t require assistance or company. He’d come for coffee and a few other groceries and that was it.
Confronting the woman with the friendly voice, Jeb got the shock of his life. She was young and blond and beautiful. Really beautiful. He couldn’t begin to imagine what had brought a beauty like this to a town like Buffalo Valley. The next thing he noticed was how tall she was—just a couple of inches shorter than his own six feet. Her blue eyes held kindness and her smile was warm.
“I’m Maddy Washburn,” she said, holding out her hand.
Jeb stared at it a second before he extended his own. “Jeb McKenna,” he said gruffly, certain he was making an ass of himself by gawking at her. Hell, he couldn’t seem to stop.
“So you’re Jeb,” she returned, sounding genuinely pleased to make his acquaintance. “I wondered when I’d have a chance to meet you. Sarah and Calla talk about you all the time.”
He nodded and turned back to his cart. It was adding up now, why his sister had “forgotten” to include coffee in his monthly supplies.
“I own Hansen’s Grocery,” she said.
“You do?” Afraid his staring was noticeable, he placed two large tins of ground coffee in his cart.
“What do you think of the new paint job?”
“Looks nice,” he said, and pointedly checked his list as he pushed his cart down the aisle. He added a ten-pound bag of sugar.
“I thought so, too.”
She was in front of him now, straightening rows of powdered creamer.
“Wait a minute. You bought the grocery?” The fact that she owned the store hadn’t really hit him earlier. “Why?” It made no sense that someone with so much obvious potential and such a great body—call him sexist, but it wasn’t like he could ignore the curves on this woman—would purchase a grocery in a back-country town on the Dakota plains.
She laughed. “Everyone asks me that.”
He’d bet they did.
“I flew out for Lindsay and Gage’s wedding,” she explained.
“Lindsay? Lindsay Snyder?” Jeb asked aloud, trying to remember where he’d heard the name. It didn’t take him long to make the connection. Lindsay was the schoolteacher Calla was so crazy about. The Southern gal who’d stepped in at the last moment a year earlier and saved the high school from being closed. He’d never met her, but she was all Calla had talked about for months. Apparently she was related to Anton and Gina Snyder, who were long-dead and buried, if memory served him right. Back in July, Lindsay had married Gage Sinclair, an area farmer and once a good friend. Needless to say, Jeb hadn’t attended the wedding.
“Lindsay and I’ve been best friends our entire lives and… well, I was looking for a change…”
“You’re from the South, too?”
Maddy nodded and laughed again. “Savannah, Georgia. Please don’t feel obliged to warn me about the winters. Everyone takes delight in telling me how dreadful conditions can get here.”
The Southern beauty didn’t have a clue, but she’d soon discover the truth of that on her own. Not being much of a talker, he wasn’t sure what to say next, so he pushed his cart forward.
“I’ve changed things around quite a bit,” she said as she strolled down the aisle at his side. “If you’d like some help with your list—”
“I don’t.” He knew he’d been curt, but that seemed the best way to say what needed to be said.
“Okay.” Apparently without taking offense, she left him, humming as she returned to the front of the store. She certainly appeared to be a good-natured sort of person. It made him wonder if she knew about his leg. The only telltale sign was his limp, which was more or less pronounced according to his mood. Some days it was hard to remember, and then on other days there was no forgetting. Days like this one, when he saw a woman as lovely as Maddy Washburn….
Once he’d collected everything he needed, Jeb pushed the cart to the check-out stand where Maddy stood, waiting for him. He set the groceries on the counter and she quickly rang them up. “I’m starting a delivery service,” she announced as she bagged his purchases, using several white plastic sacks. “Would you be interested in adding your name to the list? Of course, there’d be a small fee, but I’m sure many folks will find it cost-effective. I’d bill you once a month.”
He was interested. Having to rely on anyone, his sister included, was a thorn in his pride. However, he doubted Miss Scarlett O’Hara would be willing to drive that far out of town. “I live by Juniper Creek,” he told her.
“Is that close to the Clemens ranch?”
So she’d done her homework, after all. That impressed Jeb. “I’m not far from there.”
“Then I know where you are. You can either fax or e-mail your order. Or send it by post. As long as I have it by five on Wednesday for a Thursday-afternoon delivery.”
It sounded good, but Jeb still wasn’t sure this would work. “I don’t have to